


Perfection Takes Time

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, M/M, No Uprising spoilers, Oral Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: Fill for a prompt from one of my Tumblr followers: "Newt wants everything to be perfect. Hermann just wants to get off."





	Perfection Takes Time

**Author's Note:**

> Uprising? I don't know her. I started writing this before the film came out, and my plans are to stand by my pre-Uprising headcanon, which is that Newt and Hermann survive the war ultimately unscathed, find a quiet life in academia, and live happily ever after...because it is what they deserve.

The last hour on a plane was always the worst. For some reason, whether he was on a three-hour flight or a ten-hour flight, Hermann could always keep himself occupied and relatively comfortable until the last hour, at which point some sort of internal mechanism would activate, and he would become inconsolably fidgety and bored. No book, no tablet, no snack, no in-flight entertainment could distract him, and with each passing minute he became more convinced that he would burst from his own skin from being confined to his seat.

Even when this endurance challenge was over, even when the seemingly interminable runway journey had ended and every slow, inefficient passenger ahead of him had shambled off the plane, even then, he still found himself in an airport. Ugh. What a way to spend one's birthday.

Only when Hermann was in the cab and headed for his house did his mood begin to lift. To be sure, he was still exhausted, hungry, and filthy, but the hardest parts were over; all that was left was to step out of the car and be handed his bags, and then he would be on his own doorstep, where a hot shower and a bed awaited.

It was a long cab ride, during which time fantasizing about bathing and sleeping wore a bit thin. Hermann started thinking about the other comforts of home that he would avail himself of, once he was fully rested: meals cooked just the way he liked them, a computer with a saved strategy/exploration game waiting for him to complete it...oh, and you know what would be nice, Hermann thought: a blow job.

In fact, why wait, he decided upon further consideration. He would see about working that in between the shower and the sleeping. Newt would be home when he arrived, according to the text he'd sent when he'd gotten off the plane, and while it was not Hermann's habit to demand arbitrary things just because of an arbitrary natal anniversary, surely Newt wouldn't begrudge him a simple, no-frills birthday blow job?

Hermann fiddled with his keys in the door as the cab pulled away. To his surprise, Newt was not there to greet him. Hermann had only been away for three days, but sometimes Newt took even a brief absence hard. Even when Hermann stepped inside the house, and called his name, Newt was nowhere to be seen. Odd. Hermann dropped his luggage and hung up his coat. That was when he noticed the red splotches on the white carpet.

"Mother of God," he breathed, until he took a second look and found that what he was seeing was not a trail of blood, but a trail of...rose petals. Or some sort of flower petals; roses just seemed the most likely, based on Hermann's understanding of this phenomenon. An elaborate romantic gesture was not at the top of his wish list right now, but he supposed it was one of the more appropriate days for it, in the calendar.

Hermann dutifully followed the rose-petal trail down the hall and into the bedroom. The trail did not terminate at the bed, as he expected, but continued into the master bathroom. Here was where he found Newt, in a bathrobe, a bottle of champagne in one hand, two glasses in the other.

"Happy birthday!" Newt hollered. The glasses clinked together in his hand as he spread his arms in a celebratory fashion. Behind him, their enormous sunken bathtub was filled to the brim with bubbles.

"Oh my," was all Hermann could say. He fully understood how much he should appreciate this elaborate gesture, how so many other people longed for their partners to do something so thoughtful, but did Newt really have to do this today, just because it was his birthday? Newt knew perfectly well that Hermann was just like anyone else, exhausted and exasperated by flying. Could this not have waited until tomorrow?

Apparently, in Newt's mind, there was no such possibility. He was completely guileless, and the only mistake he acknowledged was that he should not have been holding the bottle and glasses when he could rather have been helping Hermann out of his clothes. He set them on the counter by the sink and rushed over, eager for Hermann to strip, and doing what he could to facilitate that.

Although the bathtub had been designed and built with Hermann's disability in mind, complete with shallow steps and a rail, Newt insisted on taking Hermann's arm as he descended into the sudsy, steaming-hot water. He made sure Hermann was comfortable before reclining, himself, and of course only then did he realize that he'd left the champagne on the counter.

"It's fine," Hermann said. "We'll get it later." But Newt leaped out of the water, splashing everywhere as he retrieved the bottle and glasses.

"I want everything to be perfect on your special day," Newt said. "Especially since you had to fly today. Gross. But that's over now." He poured Hermann a glass, then one for himself. Hermann almost drank from his before Newt held his own glass out for a toast.

"To the birthday boy," Newt said.

Honestly, everything was lovely, and on any other day, Hermann would have found it delightful. It just wasn't what he wanted at the moment. He could practically have been out of the shower and in bed by this time. Instead, Newt instructed Hermann to turn around to have his back scrubbed, which Hermann knew would take twenty minutes, or some ridiculous amount of time.

"So how was the symposium?" Newt asked, as he worked soapy fingers into Hermann's tense shoulders.

Hermann couldn't help but groan – it was very nice. "It was— _unhh_ —it was interesting. My presentation on unitary relativistic quantum theory was well-received, I think."

"And did you see any other good talks?"

"Hmm, there was one on transport theory in condensed matter physics. And one on the history of spin fluctuation theory in itinerant electron systems."

Newt rolled a bar of soap between his hands to refresh the lather. "The history of spinning fluctuations in—ugh, how do you guys manage to make science so _boring_?"

"Hush. I'm sorry that no one was poking live creatures with sticks, but you didn't have to be there anyway, so why bother to complain?"

"I guess that's true."

Newt continued languorously soaping his back, as though it required an incredible amount of time. God, Hermann would have even settled for a hand job at this point. And that would have been so easy, too: Newt could just reach around and stroke him off, and then he could have a nap. But Hermann simply could not bring himself to interrupt the proceedings; it would be impolite, after all the trouble Newt had gone to, to profess that he really would just have preferred to sit on the sofa and receive a blow job. So he let Newt wash him all over, which to be fair did include a little bit of sliding his half-hard prick between soapy fingers, but not nearly enough – Newt insisted that the real naughtiness was being saved for the "main event."

Every time Hermann suspected that the end of their bath adventure was near, he found he was wrong: his hair needed to be washed, his feet needed to be rubbed, his mouth needed to be kissed, and there were some chocolates he needed to be fed.

When at last he was allowed to rise, and leave the tub, he reached for a towel on the rack, but was commanded to halt. Newt had the “good” towels stacked up on the counter, and he took one to lovingly, and _slowly_ , dry every inch of Hermann's body, with lots of pauses to drop kisses on his clean, damp skin. By now, Newt was starting to get excited, himself; Hermann could tell that it was taking every ounce of self-control he possessed to not rush things. If only he would give in to temptation.

Newt led Hermann back into the bedroom, which, Hermann was actually happy to see, was pristine, not a single sock on the floor or half-empty glass on the nightstand. Newt pulled back the covers and directed Hermann to lie down and relax, while he lit some candles and queued up some music. Hermann noticed that on the nightstand, in lieu of the usual forgotten drinking glasses, were several bottles of oil and lube. Hermann clenched one fist at the maddening thought of having anal sex tonight. The sheer time required, the slow preparation involved...he simply did not know if he had the patience right now.

The music turned out to be a selection of chipwave, or pixelwave, or whatever that style of music was that Newt was into these days, but it was unobtrusive, free from distracting vocals, so Hermann didn't mind. The candles were scented, and Hermann could have done without the smell of Sunwarmed Buttercream or whatever made-up thing it was, but again, he was inching closer and closer to possibly having his penis in the vicinity of Newt's mouth, so he let all these things happen as Newt had so carefully planned.

At last, at long last, Newt slipped into bed beside him. He cuddled up close to Hermann and began kissing him. This was very nice, there was no use in denying that, but Hermann found it difficult to concentrate on what was happening, because he was so preoccupied with what he hoped would be happening in the very near future. And then, he wasn't even thinking about that, because he was thinking about how guilty he felt, for focusing on what was going to happen rather than what was happening.

Thankfully, this shame spiral ended when Newt's kisses began to migrate from his face to his neck, and then to his shoulders and chest. Hermann got excited, and put his hand on the back of Newt's head – something he never did, as he thought it rude. But Newt did not seem to mind, and taking the hint, made his way down to Hermann's hard, twitching prick. "Just a little, okay?" Newt said. "I want you to come inside me while I ride you tonight."

"That sounds delightful," Hermann said, and it did, but he was maybe sort of lying.

Newt began with teasing little licks; he would squeeze Hermann’s prick until a little pre-come slipped out, then clean it off with an eager pink tongue. But as much as he tried to be coy, he loved having Hermann’s prick in his mouth, he’d said so many times, so it wasn’t long before he was suckling in earnest. Hermann’s frustration dissolved, and he relaxed with a groan and settled in. He spread his legs, in case Newt wanted to slide a finger into his arsehole. Newt did not do that this time, but he did cup Hermann’s balls with his free hand, gently rolling them in their sack.

“That’s very nice,” Hermann murmured. He took deep breaths, doing his best to hold off, to draw it out, and finally enjoy the tension for a little while before he let go.

Newt's mouth made wet, intimate sounds as it slid over Hermann's prick. He even made a good, solid try to get the whole thing in his mouth. His gag reflex was too sensitive for this, but Hermann appreciated the endearingly clumsy effort; he especially loved the way it looked when Newt's tongue protruded just a tiny bit past his bottom lip as his mouth worked. Watching intently, Hermann tousled a lock of Newt’s hair and cooed, "God, yes, _mmh_. It's so good, Newton. You're such a good boy."

Newt's reaction to this was immediate: he reached down between his legs and began to stroke himself as he slurped at Hermann; praise made him lose control, and perhaps Hermann had exploited that a little, but was anyone unhappy? No.

And now that Newt was feeling good, too, he began to make little noises around Hermann's prick, and then it was just all too much for Hermann. Arrows of heat shot down his thighs as he climaxed; he cried out shamelessly, and pumped his load down Newt's throat, and it felt _magnificent_.

Newt sat up, grabbed the towel he’d set aside on the nightstand, and wiped the drool from his chin with it. "What'd you do that for?" he said softly. “I said we were gonna…do the thing.”

Hermann felt too good to feel bad. With eyes closed, he smiled and said, "I'm sorry, it was just so wonderful. Here, don't be angry with me." He reached out and tried to encourage Newt to get on top of him, to straddle him. "Sit here, and you can come on me. I want to watch you do it."

Newt was still disappointed, but less so upon hearing this suggestions, and he began to move in the direction Hermann had invited him.

"Come on,” Hermann said, guiding Newt with his hands to hurry him along, “I know you like it. I know you like to get it all over me."

"Yeah," Newt admitted, planting one knee on either side of Hermann. “I like getting you messy.” He took his cock in hand and began to stroke it; he was already fully hard, and it soon became apparent that he didn’t have far to go. He kept his eyes on Hermann's heaving chest and quivering belly. "Yeah, I'm gonna do it," he grunted, and moaned sharply through his orgasm, shooting all over Hermann’s clean damp skin.

As he calmed down, Newt took a few moments to get an eyeful of Hermann’s spunk-splattered belly, giving himself a final few strokes. Then he grabbed the towel again and cleaned Hermann up, careful to get every stray drop, before collapsing at his side and cuddling up. Hermann snaked one arm around Newt to pull him closer.

"This was a lovely present," he said, giving Newt a little peck on the forehead. "Thank you, darling."

Newt looked up at him. “Yeah? You had a good birthday?”

After a moment’s thought, Hermann said, “I might go so far as to say it was perfect.”

Grinning at this praise, Newt propped himself up on one elbow and asked, “Can I tell you what I want for _my_ birthday?”

That was six months away, but Hermann was not going to fuss about it. “Please do,” he said.

Newt whispered his wish into Hermann’s ear.

“You naughty boy,” was all Hermann could say in response, around a surprised little laugh. “You filthy, naughty boy.”

 


End file.
